


And Yet Flowers Still Bloom?

by ZadieWrites



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Basically Just Flowers, But Not At The End, But What Fanfiction Isn't, Childhood Friends, Destruction of Doriath, Flashbacks, Flowers, Little Bit Self-Indulgent, M/M, Post-War of the Ring, Pre-War of the Ring, SFW Courtship, So I wrote this cause I wanted Elronduil Content, Young!Elrond, Young!Thranduil - Freeform, childhood crushes, elronduil - Freeform, it jumps around, sentimental stuff, short and sweet, tad of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 17:32:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19010524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZadieWrites/pseuds/ZadieWrites
Summary: Elrond and Thranduil have had an off-and-on romantic relationship throughout their lives. They support each other as friends but could ban one another from each other's halls in an instant. It's a complicated relationship, but one thing that has always stayed consistent, is flowers. Here are three points in Thranduil's life, one when he is a small elfling, one when he is an adolescent and one when he is almost 7,000 years old, post war of the ring, in which Elrond gives him a flower.





	And Yet Flowers Still Bloom?

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am indeed still alive, I just haven't been posting all that much due to finals, in any case, here's some soft Elronduil.

The elves of Doriath and Lothlorien seemed like nice enough peoples, having met within Doriath, but Elrond was too young to make such a discernation. He and his twin brother had been put on the grounds of the castle while their father met with the king of Doriath, so they could get to know its prince, who they’d been told was a bit older than them. 

 

Elros didn’t want to meet the prince, but Elrond felt it would be only . . . proper to meet with people from other kingdoms as their father was doing. 

 

Elrond wandered around the field that was just outside the Doriathan castle, and he saw a taller child, in the distance, sitting on a rock, on a cliff which overlook a lake, the little princess of Lothlorien sat beside him, in her pink and white dress. 

 

When Elrond walked closer, the child turned to him and Elrond immediately knew it was the prince of Doriath. He bore a strong resemblance to King Oropher, and his braided hair was platinum. He was absolutely beautiful with a strong jawline and piercing blue eyes.

 

Elrond saw a little pink flower standing in the field, bending with the breeze and he plucked it. He walked up further, looking down at the lake at the foot of the cliff. 

 

“I don’t think you should be so close. You might fall.” he told the prince.

 

“I might throw you in for doubting my grace.” he replied.

 

“I might doubt your grace when you say things so not very gracious.” 

 

The two of them stared at one another like that for a bit before Elrond started to feel guilty.

 

“Though, perhaps you’re right. I don’t want to start what will surely be a lifelong alliance with an argument. Therefore this is for you.” he held out the flower. 

 

The prince hesitantly took it. “Thank you? What is your name again?” 

 

“Elrond, son of Earendil.”

 

“I’m Prince Thranduil Oropherion.” 

 

“Thank you, though I’m aware.” 

 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he gestured to the magenta wildflower.

 

Elrond took the flower, gently and tucked it behind Prince Thranduil’s delicately pointed ear.

 

“There.” Elrond smiled. 

 

“. . . thank you. I suppose.” 

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The forest of Greenwood was thriving, birds sung in clear voices and flower buds peeked out from their green, tough husks. 

 

But its people were not happy. Elrond knew that as he made his way through the forest. 

 

After a few more minutes of walking through the woods, he stopped. He found what he was looking for. 

 

A clearing, with a figure kneeling down in the center of it. 

 

He stepped into the clearing. 

 

“. . . your father chose a beautiful land.” Elrond said, hesitantly. 

 

“. . . he did.” agreed the other elf kneeling down on the mossy floor. 

 

“Though, I am aware it must be small comfort to you.” 

 

The elf turned his head in Elrond’s direction. He was still so beautiful, it’d been a decade since they’d seen each other but from his sharp jawline and his well-formed brow. 

 

“Why did you come find me?” he asked in his deep, strong voice. 

 

“I wanted to see how you were faring, Thranduil. The spirit among your people is dark.”

 

Thranduil stood up from the ground, turning around fully. 

 

“You can’t be surprised.” he scoffed. 

 

“. . . I’m not. It’s a terrible thing what happened to Doriath.” 

 

“It was my birthplace. And I keep asking myself will I remember what it looked like in a thousand years? Five thousand? Ten thousand? Will I still remember its rolling hills and broad trees in a hundred thousand years?” 

 

“. . . it is . . . my belief that yes. You will.” Elrond assured him. 

 

“I took my homeland for granted.”

 

“We all take our homelands for granted. As we should. We are not supposed to lose our homes, our kingdoms.”

 

The other stayed silent, looking at him with piercing blue eyes. 

 

“How long has it been since you interacted with someone?” Elrond questioned. 

 

“. . . it’s been a few weeks. Is it obvious?” 

 

“I just know that when something bad happens you try to bury your emotions. Try to hide it.” 

 

“That’s a Silvan thing.” 

 

“No, that’s a you thing.” Elrond brushed him off. “Anyway, I brought you something.” 

 

“. . . really.” he said it more like a statement than a question. 

 

He reached into his cape and produced a flower, bright and long, and pink. Then he held the plant out to the prince. 

 

“. . . really.” Thranduil said again. 

 

“Shh.” replied the younger elf, tucking the flower behind Thranduil’s ear. 

 

“Why . . .” he murmured. 

 

“Pink looks lovely on you. I hope that it may make you feel less black.”

 

Thranduil leaned forward and kissed him. At first Elrond was surprised, but then he felt his body going with it. He ran his hand through the prince’s soft hair, being careful not to disturb the flower. 

 

He felt the warmth of the other elf’s body, their lips pressed together when . . . just as soon as it had began it ended, 

 

The Silvan elf pulled away, looking down at the ground, and stepping back. 

 

“I am vulnerable at this time. It won’t be safe for me to go any further.” Thranduil informed him. “You must go.”

 

Elrond stared back at him. He understood. The older elf wanted to protect himself, and he wanted to protect him too. 

 

So he started walking away. 

 

“Elrond . . .” started Thranduil.

 

“Yes?” 

 

“Thank you.” 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

It’d been less than a year since the war of the ring. Legolas had returned to Mirkwood, but orcs still roamed all of Arda. Perhaps that was part of the reason he’d returned, to assist the woodland elves in keeping back orcish forces. 

 

But Thranduil hoped that wasn’t the only reason his son had come back, especially since for the thirteen months the war had lasted, the king had agonized over the prince’s safety. 

And Mirkwood had been getting visits from people, mainly elves who were friends of Legolas and hadn’t managed to catch him when he had resided in Imladris. But the lord of Imladris had came to this land not just to see the boy. 

 

Thranduil stood on the ledge overlooking the forest, waiting for him. He knew that he would find him. 

 

“I am surprised I am still welcome in your halls.” surely enough Lord Elrond’s voice spoke, in Sindarin, behind the elvenking. 

 

Thranduil turned around.

 

“Always.” he replied in the commontongue. 

 

“Even after everything?” 

 

“Especially after everything.” 

 

“Would you still consider me a friend?” Elrond questioned, stepping towards him. 

 

“. . . friend . . . ally . . . lover.” he said the last word softly. 

 

“It was a long time ago. And you have Galion.” 

 

“It is true. And he has been supportive to me during this war.”

 

“You did not help us. You did not volunteer your forces. Men and elves and dwarves alike have died awful deaths during the last thirteen months.”

 

“. . . if my son needed it, I would have offered my help. But I couldn’t risk losing this kingdom. I couldn’t be reckless. Greenwood was reduced to fragments of its population during the first war with Sauron. I would not risk my elves because I happen to have a personal attachment to an adventurer half a world away.” 

 

Elrond stood by his side for a moment, taking in those words. 

 

“When a ruler plays hero, they play God with the lives of those loyal to them. I fight the battles we have an actual chance of winning. You and that wizard placed the fate of the entire world on a child. And you dragged my own child into it.” 

 

“. . . we took a lot of risks. We did what we thought was right.” 

 

“I tire of your messages of righteousness, Elrond, sometimes, you’ve got to protect your own. I’ve seen my father ride to war over some altruistic motive about saving the world and he died. You, yourself watched it happen.” 

 

“. . . I did not come here to argue with you.” 

 

“I am admittedly bitter. I almost lost my only child. Who is, need I remind you one of the last elves in all of Arda possessing Silvan blood.” 

 

“You hardly need to remind me, Thranduil, Legolas is as Silvan as they come.”

 

“He . . . knows I’m proud of him, right?” questioned Thranduil. 

 

“That’s a question only Legolas can answer.” 

 

Thranduil folded his arms and leaned against the railing of the balcony. 

 

“Why did you decide to make the long journey to get here? Why would you bother?” 

 

“I knew you were not taking the war well. I knew you were close to orc territory. I wanted . . . to make sure you were alright. Is that enough?” 

 

“I didn’t dare believe you still thought of me.” 

 

“Hard not to when I took care of your son for sixty years.” 

 

“I’m afraid much of the thinking I did about you and Imladris was out of bitterness.” 

 

“. . . you may be insensitive, you may be beautiful, you may be the coldest bastard I’ve ever known but . . . you were also a worried parent. You’ve every right to be bitter.” 

 

“I do suppose I should give you some credit for helping save Arda . . . the world has been ravaged. But it was nearly destroyed. Can you promise me this time that the evil bitch responsible for all this isn’t coming back this time?”

 

“He’s not coming back.” 

 

Thranduil nodded and for a moment, they stood there, looking out at the beautiful forest, if a bit darker than it once was. 

 

“I’m glad you came. I needed to see you. I needed to see someone who . . . understood. To a degree.” the king said at last. 

 

“We have our differences. We argue. We refuse to speak to one another for centuries on end. But I am your friend. And when you need me, when you really, really need me, I will be there.” 

 

“Always?”

 

“Always.” he agreed in elvish. 

 

The Thranduil saw Elrond reach into his coat and pull out . . . a flower. It was a white lily from Imladris. Beautiful, and remarkably hardy. 

 

He didn’t have words, he couldn’t believe Elrond still remembered the age-old ritual after so many years. 

 

Elrond tucked the flower behind his ear, gently, brushing his hair back. 

 

Thranduil at last was able to speak, “All that we’ve been through . . . all that we’ve faced and loved and lost . . . and yet flowers still bloom?”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the angst in the middle, I just can't help myself and sorry you only got one cut-off kiss, sometimes it just be like that.


End file.
